


Heaven or High Water

by mkhhhx



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Blood, Gardens & Gardening, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Not too graphic tho, Slasher, Unhealthy Relationships, with a side of mild psychological horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:00:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27047596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mkhhhx/pseuds/mkhhhx
Summary: They talk about a lot of things. About poems. About cooking. About life and heartbreak and gardening. About macarons. Photography. Being in love and making love. It’s good. Almost too good to be true.
Relationships: Lee Taeyong/Qian Kun
Comments: 39
Kudos: 98
Collections: Challenge #2 — tricks; treats; and terrors





	Heaven or High Water

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> This is quite different from my usual works but I had a great time writing.  
> Hope you all enjoy and I'll see you again at the reveals!

Kun honestly needed the change of scenery. After being let down by his job, a heartbreak and his life being a total mess for way longer than he could bear he finally made the big step. Or, more like a lot of big steps since there was nothing holding him back anymore.

He found the house for a ridiculously cheap rent, but then again, urbanization does that to suburban areas, he guesses. Everything seems perfect, even if the heating doesn’t quite work and he has to take from his savings while setting up his freelance work.

Out of everything there are two things he likes the most: his west facing bedroom where he can sit and watch the sunset in the afternoon, and his neighbour.

Kun meets Taeyong the day after he moves in. They exchange pleasantries, Kun perched on his white fence and Taeyong a few steps away, just out of his Jeep and probably heading to his own house. There is loud barking coming from his estate.

“They must have missed me,” Taeyong smiles. “They can always smell me from afar.”

Kun, when bidding Taeyong goodbye, catches a glimpse of brown and black fur. Three Dobermans.

They stumble on each other almost on the daily after that. When Kun returns from a grocery trip, when Taeyong is at his garden watering his plants, when one of them takes out the trash and the other happens to be outside.

Kun, although fresh from his worst -so far- break up has no trouble admitting that Taeyong is pretty; too pretty, maybe. He has the kind of aura that draws people to him. If not other people, certainly Kun. Big, kind eyes, a shy but beaming smile, his love for his dogs that Kun eventually gets to meet, his green thumb. Kun is positive he has never seen roses as vibrant as Taeyong’s ever before.

“So,” Kun takes a sip from his tea. Taeyong’s living room is lovely, decorated in earthy colours, clean and sweet smelling. “What do you occupy yourself with?”

“Oh,” Taeyong gives him a smile and Kun momentarily thinks he would do anything to kiss it. “I work at a publishing house as an editor, mainly for poems.”

“That’s nice!” Kun takes a macaron from the shared plate on the low table between them. “It sounds interesting if you enjoy it.”

“I love it,” Taeyong brings his own cup to his lips. He mentioned he grows the tea himself and Kun, indeed, has never tasted anything that strong but balanced before. “I love all beautiful things out there.”

Kun nods in understanding. A pretty man surrounded by his beautiful things. Only fitting for someone like Taeyong. From the corner of his eye he can see Taeyong’s dogs watching them. They are very well behaved.

They get to know each other and Kun has missed this. Meeting new people, being a new person for someone else. His life with Jaehyun at the city didn’t leave him much space to hone his social skills, but now, sitting at his garden with Taeyong, Kun feels like he’s being reborn.

They talk about a lot of things. About poems. About cooking. About life and heartbreak and gardening. About macarons. Photography. Being in love and making love. It’s good. Almost too good to be true.

“They look so healthy,” Kun says, tracing a finger on the velvety petals of Taeyong’s roses. The dogs are watching. They always are. “What’s your secret?” He laughs.

“I give them a lot of love,” Taeyong smiles, walking the few steps to Kun’s side, lifting his arm. “I give them just what they need.” The pad of Taeyong’s finger gets pierced by a thorn. Blood drips slowly. _Drip. Drip. Drip._

Concern dies down on Kun’s throat as Taeyong lifts the finger to his lips. He licks the blood with a grin.

“Macaron?” Taeyong asks, pastries neatly wrapped in satin, tucked into Taeyong’s pocket. Kun doesn’t question the hows and whys. He was never the one to decline a sweet offer like this.

Kun has seen Taeyong’s garage before. A weird, neat place. There’s an iron table. Freezers. Buckets around. A row of polished chef knives, organized on a wooden base. It smells like chlorine. Kun saw it the first time Taeyong gave him a tour of his house. Said that sometimes he buys big chunks of meat and prepares them for his dogs. Of course. Shiny fur and muscular sides. Like everything else, Taeyong’s dogs are well cared for too.

“I want to show you something.”

It’s well past sunset when Taeyong tiptoes behind their shared fence to catch his attention. Kun has been watering his own flowers, dull compared to the ones at the garden next door. “I know you can keep a secret,” Taeyong says when Kun is following him to the side of the house, to the garage door. Something smells weird.

“Do you know who that is?” Taeyong asks and steps aside, letting Kun have a view of the room.

Kun freezes in his tracks.

“Taeyong?” He feels something nasty coming up in his throat and his knees about to give out. He backs against the nearest wall trying to stay upright. “Taeyong, what-“

There’s a body on the table. Short. Bald. Bare. A pair of clothes neatly tucked next to his feet. The logo of the company Kun worked for three years at sewn on the chest of the shirt. He could recognize his previous boss everywhere.

The room is spinning the next time he manages to lift his eyes up. There are three buckets on the side of the room. Filled to the brim with a mass of organs Kun cannot tell apart and doesn’t want to. The dogs are waiting in front of them. _So_ well behaved. On his boss’s neck there is a clean deep cut, the head tilted to the side. Blood drips into a half-filled iron bucked. _Drip. Drip. Drip._

He heaves right outside the garage door, emptying his stomach and then some more.

“Nobody is allowed to hurt you,” Taeyong rubs his back in slow circles. “Nobody.”

The dogs are eating.

They talk but they don’t talk about it. They talk about all the other things. Taeyong gives him a pastel-coloured macaron every day. Kun wakes up from nightmares every night and runs to the toilet bowl to empty his stomach. He almost convinces himself his mind has been playing tricks on him. He has his first customers. He is stressed. The night at the garage never happened. Just one more of his bad dreams.

Taeyong comes to his place a lot. They bake together. They fuck. They pot the new flowers Kun brings back from the greenhouse a good dozen minutes away by car. Kun goes to Taeyong’s place a lot too. They play catch with the dogs. They make love. They watch trash tv. Kun waits for his daily macaron before they part. Well behaved.

“Where do you buy them from?” Kun asks. He is naked on Taeyong’s bed. They are watching the sunset together. A few minutes ago Taeyong pushed a teal macaron on Kun’s lips. Made Kun lick the last crumbs of sweetness off of his dainty fingers.

“I make them myself,” Taeyong lifts Kun’s chin for a chaste kiss before Kun is opening up, letting Taeyong lick into his mouth. “I will show you sometime.”

“Not now,” Kun laughs, pulling Taeyong back on himself.

“Definitely not now,” Taeyong agrees, lowering himself to graze his teeth on the side of Kun’s neck.

The dogs are well behaved. Kun doesn’t even notice them waiting at the foot of the bed.

Kun sees Taeyong returning home a little after noon. He’s carrying things and Kun would offer to help, but he’s trying to concentrate on work. The dogs are barking too loudly for a bit before they quiet.

The sun is already down when Taeyong tiptoes behind their shared fence. “I want to show you something”, he tells Kun who is watering his flowers.

The night at the garage wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare.

Kun stands there, at the entrance, trying to pinch himself awake. There are buckets in front of the dogs. There is a bucket underneath the table. A single bloody knife out of place. Taeyong is wearing a black apron, tight around his waist.

Kun had never thought he’d see Jaehyun again. Kun had been with Jaehyun for four and a half years. Kun had never seen Jaehyun so pale before. _Drip. Drip. Drip._

“Nobody is allowed to hurt you,” Taeyong rubs his back, keeping him upright. The dogs get their share. Jaehyun’s eyes are still open. Kun faints.

“Do you want to help me water the roses?” Taeyong asks the next day. Kun had slept weird. Had nightmares. Taeyong’s smile is blinding as ever. He has to do something about his bad dreams sometime.

The dogs sniff his hands when he opens the door to Taeyong’s property. They never bark at Kun. Taeyong gives him a watering can and they get to work, humming a tune together. The water seems almost maroon from the angle Kun is watching as it drips down to the reddish soil. Must be the soft afternoon light playing tricks on him. If he’s lucky Taeyong will take him up to the bedroom. Maybe even against the wall next to the front door. Maybe they’ll go back to Kun’s place afterwards, he isn’t that picky. He knows he’s getting his colourful macaron at the end of the day nonetheless. Violet ones are his favourite, clad in matching satin. Tucked safely in Taeyong’s pockets.

It’s full blown summer and Kun sees Taeyong returning home around noon. Walking into his property. Getting out and opening the door to Kun’s garden. Kun watches him ring the bell for a moment before he gets up to open the front door.

“Kun dear,” Taeyong smiles and the whole world lights up. Kun hasn’t seen him since the previous afternoon. He has become weirdly dependent on Taeyong’s presence. “I wanted to ask you if you can come help me move around some stuff later today.”

“Sure,” Kun ignores all the work waiting for him on his heavy desk. “Call me whenever.”

“You’re so good to me,” Taeyong pushes a little box he’s holding into Kun’s hand. “A little thank you.” He kisses Kun’s cheek and then he’s gone, Kun watching the top of his blond head across the fence.

He opens the small paper box. There’s satin inside and five fresh macarons. All violet.

Later in the evening, when the sun is going down, Taeyong tiptoes behind the fence to catch Kun’s attention. He leaves his watering unfinished. He will get back to it later, anyway.

The dogs greet him as they always do. Sniffing his hands, quiet. Taeyong has a box in his hand and Kun follows him. Follows Taeyong to the side of the house.

The garage is clean, spotless. It smells of chlorine. There’s an empty bucket under the iron table and three more lined up at the right wall of the room. The knives are all organized by size on their wooden base. Kun convinces himself he has never seen this room dirty in any way before.

They move boxes of dry dog food from Taeyong’s car to the garage cabinets. Taeyong buys in bulk every time he drives to the city, he says. It makes perfect sense. Kun doesn’t know much about dog food but he knows it’s an expensive brand. It explains the shiny fur. The dogs are watching them work. They line up on the wall, right next to the three buckets. Maybe hungry.

There are no more boxes and bags to carry but Taeyong doesn’t seem ready to leave. He places two fingers under Kun’s chin, a palm on his chest and they kiss. There is no rush, and who is Kun to say no to a sweet treat, anyway. Taeyong’s lips are sugary, like the macarons Kun ate in one sitting a few hours ago. The room smells of bleach. The dogs are watching. Taeyong pushes him backwards until his thighs hit the iron table. Kun can’t think straight and Taeyong’s touch overpowers the bile, rising up his throat as if on reflex.

He lets Taeyong manhandle him, he always liked it that way. Lets Taeyong grab him by the hips and lift him on the table. Lets Taeyong settle comfortably between his legs.

“Let’s take this off,” Taeyong’s hands rest at the hem of his shirt and Kun willingly lifts his hands to let Taeyong pull the garment up.

Taeyong folds the shirt neatly and places it on the corner of the table. Kun doesn’t like that.

“I should go,” Kun mutters, tries to straighten himself but Taeyong’s hand is firm on his chest. “I haven’t finished watering my flowers.”

“No,” Taeyong says and reaches for something behind Kun’s back. The sound of metal dragging on wood is a dull one. The knife fits so perfectly on Taeyong’s hand. As if it was custom made, just for him. Just to slice that one specific artery, time after time. “No, I don’t think it’s a good time to go, Kun.”

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Kun doesn’t feel it but he can hear it. He becomes lightheaded as his blood hits the metallic surface of the table. Taeyong places a hand behind his head and helps him lay down slowly. Kicks the bucket to be align with Kun’s throat. The room smells like fresh blood.

Kun turns his head slightly. Three buckets lined up on the wall, ready to be filled. The dogs are very well behaved. The dogs are watching. The dogs are hungry and about to get their share.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me [here](https://twitter.com/kuns_dimples)!


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